Message-ID: <59921asstr$1266109814@assm.asstr.org>
From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} repost "Heart Ball" Part 12 --(Uther)
Lines: 1832
Date: Sat, 13 Feb 2010 20:10:14 -0500
Path: assm.asstr.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, or otherwise forbidden by law
to read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do
something else.

This material is Copyright, 2002, 2003, Uther Pendragon.  All
rights reserved.  I specifically grant the right of downloading
and keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long
as this notice is included.  Reposting requires previous
permission.

All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as
public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination
and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly
coincidental.


                           #  #  #  #
                           HEART BALL
                       by Uther Pendragon
                    nogardneprethu@gmail.com




Part 12:
Continued from Part 11


When Shannon got to her locker before the first period class,
Steve was there.  He handed her the disk with his letter.  "This
contains good news and bad news," he said.  "The good news is
that Amy is at the Mayo clinic.  Her parents took her there.
They really think they can help her.  I don't know any more than
that."

"And the bad news?"

"It's in there.  It's too long to tell."

So she figured that he'd grown tired of her.  Still, he walked
with her to class.  Mrs. Foster went on and *on* in class.
Luckily, she asked almost no questions, and none of those were
directed towards Shannon.  Shannon would almost certainly have
noticed if they had been.

She spent the next few periods worrying.  What was Steve
doing?  If he really liked another girl now, he shouldn't be
waiting at Shannon's locker.  How would he behave at lunch?  How
should she behave at lunch?  Luckily, it was Tammy's birthday
celebration.  She sat with her friends; he sat with his
friends.

                              - = -

Steve was almost relieved when Shannon went to a table of all
girls.  He didn't know what to say to her until she'd read his
message.  What would he do if she decided not to go with him on
Saturday?  He shouldn't have told her.  On the other hand, if she
went with him and they were discovered, that would be the end.
In the best of all possible worlds, she would go with him in
spite of the danger.  In the best of all possible worlds, he'd
have enough money.

He ate the meal he'd brought from home.  He got neither a soft
drink to go with it nor a dessert to eat afterwards.  It was
possible to eat that way, if not terribly pleasant.

Just before the end of the lunch period, he went over to
Shannon's table to pick up her tray.  "Thanks, Steve," she said.
It was almost as if she hadn't expected it.  Maybe she was
talking so the other girls, or some particular other girl, would
notice.  Girls did that a lot.  It seemed to Steve that they
didn't have friends, they had rivals.  Still, he liked people to
know that he was her boyfriend, too.  Maybe after she read the
note, she wouldn't want the relationship known.  Not really, it
wasn't as if it was his fault.

                              - = -

After Steve had gone with her tray, Shannon tried to figure
out where they stood.  He clearly hadn't dumped her.  Maybe that
was in the letter.  Still, if he was seeing another girl, that
girl wouldn't like Steve paying attention to Shannon.  Unless,
just perhaps, the girl felt pity for Shannon because of her
grounding.

Really, Steve was hurting himself by breaking up with her now.
She would have gone all the way with him on Saturday, really she
would have.  And he had given her that expensive gift.

She spent the rest of the day stewing over his behavior.  Her
mom would have been overjoyed to see the way she rushed home
through the falling snow.  Her mom wasn't home to see, though.
Shannon ran up the stairs to her room and locked the door.  She
popped the disk into the computer.

The bad news wasn't about his having found a new girlfriend,
although his willingness to give up the motel was suspicious.
There he had a chance to go all the way, and he told her she
could back out.  At this point, her mom came in the door and
called her downstairs.  She took only enough time to hide the
disk.

She cooked the dinner and set the table.  When they were done
eating, she hurried to load the dishwasher.  Then she went back
upstairs to her "homework."  She ignored her actual school
assignments, though.  Her only priority was reading Steve's
letter again.


 > Darling
 > I have good news and bad news.

 > First, the good news.  They've taken Amy to the Mayo clinic.
 > According to a woman at the bank, they think that she'll be
 > much better when she gets back.

 > The bad news concerns the motel.  I have enough cash to pay
 > for it, but that will leave me short until the next pay.  I
 > wouldn't bother you with that EXCEPT that if I run out, my mom
 > will want to know why.  IF I run out, and I'll try not to, and
 > IF she asks why, I'll make up something.

 > Still, you should know that the secret is a lot less safe than
 > I would like it to be.

 > I love you,
 > I really love you.

 > You might want to reconsider Saturday because of
 > what I told you above.  It's your risk, so it's
 > your decision.  But I *do*  want to get together
 > with you.  Not just in school.  And I can't see
 > another time.

 > Wouldn't Ken be surprised if we end up actually
 > decorating the gym?

 > Whatever happens, whatever you decide, I still love
 > you.


Okay, she could deal with his good news.  She needed to
contact somebody.  Mr. Jensen's sister was the best bet.  Either
her or Miss Olson.  No, Miss Olson had told her not to ask.  Mr.
Jensen's sister was named Foster.  There were only a million
Fosters in the phone book.  She certainly couldn't call them all,
maybe not even one; leave that to Steve.

Would he do it for her?  Well, sure.  The rest of the letter
didn't sound like he had decided to break up.  It was more like
he was getting tired of her.

His bad news was silly.  She had money; Mr. Jensen had paid
her a hundred dollars.  For that matter, she'd told Steve.  Or
maybe she hadn't.  Even if he was tiring of her, she loved what
he could do to her feelings.  They should go to the motel.

So it was worth paying so that she could be sure that nobody
would find out.  His parents had sounded cool, but that might be
only their mood right then.  Parents' moods could change; look at
her parents.  Anyway, she remembered what had happened with Mr.
Jensen.  He'd told her mom because he had good news; he'd been
sure that her mom would be happy to learn that Steve wasn't in
trouble.

Could his mention of the problem be because he was tiring of
her?  Was he hoping that she would call off their relationship?
The rest of the letter didn't sound like that.  Certainly, "I
love you" wasn't something he'd say -- hell! he'd written it down
-- if he had another girl in mind.

And her "friends" would have been sure to tell her the news if
he was paying attention to another girl.  Secret admirers weren't
in style.  She could sneak off with Steve, but that relationship
wasn't secret.  The details might be, but he danced with her and
took her tray back to the dishwasher in front of half their class
in the cafeteria.

Decorating the gym was a thought.  It would take care of her
mom's suspicions, that was for sure.  But she hadn't had Steve's
hands on her for the longest time.  She could bring herself off,
but it wasn't the same.

But, and this was a big but, he hadn't included a fantasy.

Still, it took something to write "I love you."  He had sexual
fantasies about Jennifer Lopez.  She wasn't supposed to know
that, but she didn't mind.

Whatever.  She wanted the date.  Maybe she wouldn't take the
last step, since he was tiring of her.  Maybe she would.  She was
a bad girl now; since she was having the punishment, she might as
well have the fun.

At this point, she went back to the homework.  She'd write him
after her parents were asleep.

                              - = -

Steve missed the bus to go to the committee meeting.  It
finished up some bits and moved all their material to the gym.
They broke up early with nothing to do the next day.

There were two inches of snow on the walks when he got home.
Since it was still coming down, he was in no hurry to shovel.
Still, the more he got now, the less he would have to deal with
later.  At least, the wind wasn't bad; there was nothing worse
than shoveling a walk clear and then having the wind fill it up
again.

Before he could go out, however, his mom handed him a letter
addressed to him.  The envelope was from IIT.  "They said no," he
said after he had opened it and read it.  He handed her the
letter.

"It isn't quite 'no,' dear.  You've been put on a waiting
list.  If all the guys they've admitted die off in a smallpox
epidemic, they'll take you.  I must say that you're displaying
remarkable equanimity."

"I'm devastated, okay?  Smallpox epidemics are quite rare this
century.  I think I should write the U of I."

"I think you should, too.  I must say that you *look*
remarkably undevastated."

"The U of I has a great engineering school."

"And they have places for education majors, as well."

He had better not spend all his money and come to her for
more.  She could see right through him.  "Shannon will probably
major in history."

"Sorry."

He shoveled before dinner.  There were three inches by
then.

He and his mom ate alone at dinner, and he went back for
seconds on everything, even the green beans.  In the first place,
he was hungrier since he'd skipped dessert after lunch; in the
second place, snow shoveling worked up an appetite; in the third
place, his mom liked to see him eat her cooking -- veggies as
much as anything, which was weird considering how little effort
she put into cooking green beans.  He might need her approval if
he ran out of cash.

"Does the TV say how deep it will get?" he asked.

"Looks like snow through tomorrow."  He'd traded shoveling
during this storm and the next for brownies.  Did he want
more?

"I hope dad doesn't try to get home through this just because
of me."

"I think he'll be sensible."  Although she didn't know why
she'd said that.  She loved Roger -- she loved Steve for that
matter, but neither one of them were likely to act sensibly.

"I hope so."  For all of Steve, his dad could stay away all
weekend.  He had done so often enough.

Rachel hoped so too.  Although Steve was getting thoughtful
rather late in the day.  He'd asked Roger to come back, after
all.

Steve went to his room to read Shannon's letter.  He added the
quotes first thing.


 > I love your fantasies, you know I do.
 > One thing I love about them is that I can picture the
 > two of us in the stories you tell.

 > I can't picture you with that "one forceful shove."
 > *My*  fantasies are always fantasies of your being
 > gentle.

 > As far as white panties go.  It's your fantasy.  We
 > have *MANY* blocks to overcome before these are our
 > reality, we've talked about that.

 . . .

 > And if you want the white panties in our reality, just
 > ask.

 > The wedding dress worn after the reception might be a
 > good deal harder to arrange.  And, of course, getting
 > any wedding, let alone the dress, would be harder yet.

 > Still, *I* am not saying no to you.  I'm just pointing
 > out the ways your fantasies don't go along with
 > reality.



He was glad she enjoyed the fantasies.  Then he realized he
hadn't written one last time.  That was important, and he enjoyed
them, too.

Couldn't she see that the "forceful shove" was to minimize
*her* pain.  But he couldn't point that out; he didn't want
to put the idea of pain in her head.  Didn't girls know these
things?  The girls in Mallory's bodice-rippers might be
surprised, but that was history, before the days of sex-ed.

He answered the letter.  Then he added another set of quotes.


 >> I love your fantasies, you know I do.
 >> One thing I love about them is that I can picture the
 >> two of us in the stories you tell.

 >> I can't picture you with that "one forceful shove."
 >> *My*  fantasies are always fantasies of your being
 >> gentle.

 >> As far as white panties go.  It's your fantasy.  We
 >> have *MANY* blocks to overcome before these are our
 >> reality, we've talked about that.

 . . .

 >> And if you want the white panties in our reality, just
 >> ask.

 >> The wedding dress worn after the reception might be a
 >> good deal harder to arrange.  And, of course, getting
 >> any wedding, let alone the dress, would be harder yet.

 >> Still, *I* am not saying no to you.  I'm just pointing
 >> out the ways your fantasies don't go along with
 >> reality.

 > Well, they're fantasies.  And taking off your wedding
 > dress was more going along with your fantasy.

 > As for white panties, yes it means to me what it meant
 > in the fantasy.  Still, I don't want to choose your
 > clothing.  Just, if it isn't something which matters to
 > you, it does matter to me.


 > I got a turn-down from IIT today.  Officially, I'm
 > devastated.  Even mom noticed that I didn't look
 > devastated.  I'll write the U of I today or tomorrow.
 > Actually, I'd decided against IIT, but their decision
 > will be easier for mom and dad to accept than my
 > decision would have been.


Still, she was thinking of him on their wedding night, too.
Well, she had been when she hadn't read his message yet.  He did
want white panties in his reality, and she had all but promised
them.  Much more important it would be *their* reality.
She'd said it.

Actually, he did want to choose her clothing.  It just wasn't
a priority worth fighting over.  He absolutely hated pantyhose,
for example.  He would rather take pantyhose off her, though,
than have her resent wearing something else.

Still, it was worth mentioning.  He closed that file and
opened the story file.  He killed the entire story from two days
before, and started over.

Her objection to "one forceful shove," he realized, was an
objection to it in a fantasy.  If she wanted the fantasy of his
going in the first time with no resistance, he could give that to
her.  She'd said that he didn't have to write about them being
married.  Should he write a fantasy about their having sex before
they were married?

Not just now.  Let her decide about the motel without that
pressure.  They would make out at the motel, and maybe go farther
when they got to Champaign-Urbana.  Long before this, he'd
decided that he could wait until she was ready.  He hadn't
believed that it would be until their marriage, but -- if she
wanted to believe that -- then he wasn't going to fight.  If
actually getting it wasn't worth a fight, her facing reality sure
wasn't.  He would start the fantasy with their wedding.


 > The reception was at a hotel.  After seeing their
 > friends off, they went to the elevator.  They were all
 > alone in the hall when they got to the door of their
 > room.  They kissed for a long time before he used his
 > key.

 > When the door was open, he kissed her again and then
 > picked her up.  He carried her into the room and set
 > her down beside the bed.

 > He returned from locking the door to kiss her yet
 > again.  With his mouth still on hers, he began to
 > unbutton her blouse.  When he removed it, he kissed her
 > neck.  He kissed her all the while she turned, ending
 > on her shoulder as he unsnapped her bra.

 > He kept kissing as she turned back, but the first sight
 > of her breasts that day took his breath away.  "They
 > are beautiful,"  he said.  "You are beautiful."

 > He held them very gently while he kissed her.  Then he
 > bent to kiss each of them on their tips.

 > When she unsnapped her skirt, he kneeled down to take
 > it off.  That gave him his first sight of her nylons
 > and the sweet innocence of her white panties.  He
 > kissed her legs above the nylons.

 > She sat on the bed, and he removed her shoes.  He
 > kissed down each leg as he removed that nylon.  One
 > kiss between her belly button and the hem of her
 > panties, and then she rolled over and lay down on the
 > bed.

 > From his viewpoint, her hair down there looked like a
 > valentine's heart.  Its point was towards her belly
 > button, and its two curves were on her lips.

 > "You," he said, "are so beautiful."  He kissed her
 > again.

 > Slowly, his kisses traveled down to her breasts.  He
 > kissed her left breast, then sucked the nipple there.

 > He kissed from the tip of her left breast across the
 > valley up her right breast.  Then he sucked on that
 > nipple for minutes.

 > When she gasped, he moved until he was kneeling between
 > her legs.

 > When she raised her legs and spread them more, he
 > kissed up her chest to her neck.  His cock was
 > poised just at her entrance.


 > He kissed her mouth once more.  As his tongue entered
 > her mouth, he began to enter her below.

 > Slowly, gently, he pressed inward.  When he was all
 > the way in, he broke the kiss to speak.

 > "I love you," he said.

 > "I love you, too," she said.

 > He began moving.  Soon, he was moving faster and
 > faster.

 > She responded, pressing against him.  Suddenly, she
 > felt a strange feeling overtake her.  She convulsed
 > silently.

 > Before she had finished, he followed her.

 > Slowly, he withdrew and lay beside her.  "I love you,"
 > he said.

 > "I love you, too," she said.

 > Hugging each other, they fell asleep.


That would do it.

Still, he should watch his language.  What was a good word for
"cock"?  There really wasn't one.

He changed it to: > her chest to her neck.  He was poised
just at her > entrance.

And he might have been too blunt about the white wedding
dress.

Maybe "fantasy" was the wrong word for her dream of a white
wedding.  Maybe it was accurate, but not what she needed to hear.
Maybe it was what she needed to hear.  He decided to leave it
in.

For that matter, as long as she wasn't going to have real sex
with him, making out was easier if she knew she didn't have to
keep her guard up.  Actually getting it was maybe worth a fight;
it was just that he wasn't going to get it even if they did have
the argument.

Should they have bathroom breaks?  After a reception, and
food, sure.  He'd need to brush his teeth even if -- slight
chance -- he didn't need to piss.  In a fantasy, no.  Let's not
put that in.

Great, no mention of pain.  Shit!  He'd forgotten the rubber.
Well, this was a word processor.  He went back to: > When
she gasped, he moved until he was kneeling between > her
legs.

And typed: > He applied the condom.

After rereading, he closed that file and hid the disk in his
backpack.  He got out his homework.  This part of English was
easier than Shakespeare, but who looked things up in books these
days?  Mrs. Foster did deal with the Internet, as well; but it
seemed like little Amy trying to teach him to walk.  Mrs. Foster
could use the Internet if she had to, but she wasn't at home
there.

                              - = -

Shannon woke to the sound of her radio.  Steve's letter!
Sometimes sleeping on a problem gave you the solution, but maybe
you had to sleep the whole night.  She sure didn't have much of a
solution.

Well, she'd make one up as she went along.


  > First, the good news.  They've taken Amy to the Mayo
  > clinic.  According to a woman at the bank, they think
  > that she'll be much better when she gets back.

   Can you find out more?  Mr. Jensen's sister is named
   Foster.  They live out of town a little ways, past
   the hospital -- I remember that.  Could you call her?

  > The bad news concerns the motel.  I have enough
  > cash to pay for it, but that will leave me short until
  > the next pay.  I wouldn't bother you with that EXCEPT
  > that if I run out, my mom will want to know why.  IF I
  > run out, and I'll try not to, and IF she asks why, I'll
  > make up something.

  > I love you,
  > I really love you.

  > You might want to reconsider Saturday because of what I
  > told you above.  It's your risk, so it's your decision.
  > But I *do* want to get together with you.  Not just in
  > school.  And I can't see another time.

   Steve,
   Money is not the problem.

   Mr. Jensen paid me in cash.  Plus a bonus.  A $100
   bill.  I still have it.  Where have I had a chance to
   spend money since?

   So I will pay for the motel room.  You still have to
   provide the transportation.

  > Whatever happens, whatever you decide, I still love
  > you.


The bad news concerned Steve.  If he was willing to call the
motel off, he was willing to call the relationship off.  She knew
Steve -- she was surprised he didn't want to go to the motel with
her anyway, and call it off afterwards.

Was money ever the problem?  But that was Steve.  He worried
about money a lot.  She could remember his pushing her about her
budget, and how silly that looked now!

She hoped he still loved her.  Did he?  Would she know if he
didn't?  For that matter, would he?  She wrote:


   I love you, too.


And, strangely enough, she did.

                              - = -

Steve set his alarm earlier than usual Thursday night.  The
snow was piled deep over their sidewalks when he woke up.  He
pulled on his clothes from the night before and went out to
shovel it.

Rachel thought she had slipped into the *Twilight Zone*
when she woke up Friday morning.  Her son was already outside and
working.  "Are you feeling well?" she asked when he appeared,
fresh-showered and dressed, at the breakfast table.  He hadn't
shaved, but -- then -- he didn't shave every day, especially
since he wasn't having any more dates.

"I feel fine.  I shoveled the walk.  Not all the way across,
but it's still snowing."

"Do you want a ride to school?"  He probably wanted more
brownies, maybe something else.  Steve was transparent, but
negotiations with him were more fun than negotiations with
Mallory had been.

"That would be great.  If I don't have to wait in this
weather, I'll shave.  Somehow, a scraped face feels the cold
worse."

Roger, who usually shaved every morning, had made the same
complaint.  "Fifteen minutes."

And fifteen minutes later he was waiting at the kitchen door.
He didn't even ask to drive.  "Thanks, mom," he said before he
slammed Gertrude's door at the school.  Rachel remembered stories
of changelings she'd read long ago.

                              - = -

Shannon didn't see Steve until English class.  Well, he hadn't
stopped at her locker very often before, either.  That day, Mrs.
Foster was droning on about research on the Web.  She wished she
could invite Steve over to her house to explain it.

They swapped disks at lunch.  "I remembered to write another
story," he said.  "I hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will.  You write such nice fantasies."  She
wondered if he had written a fantasy about their time in the
motel.  Well, she'd see.  Besides, there were people all around.
Most of them were kids she only knew slightly.  Still, you didn't
say "motel" in front of them.  What did you say?

"I have a solution to the money problem.  Mr. Jensen paid me
in cash.  I still have it at home."

"Your cash isn't a solution."  Still, he thought, it might be.
He couldn't borrow from anyone because they would ask what he had
done with it.  Shannon would know what he had done with it; he
could pay her back.

"You don't want to go?"  Damn!  Every word they said could be
heard.

"I want to go," he said.  "Do you?"

"I want to.  That was never the question."

"The weather might change our plans."  Actually, he thought,
it might change his dad's plans.  "We'll talk tomorrow."

"Fine."  They needed to talk, she thought, almost as much as
they needed to do other things.  "What's with this stuff in
English class?"

He laughed.  "You were so much help to me.  Too bad you're
grounded; I might be as much help to you."

"Well, someday I won't be grounded."

"Someday, we might be at the same university.  I sent back my
acceptance last night.  Ooops!  Well, I wrote it out.  I'll mail
it tonight.  I had a lot of shoveling to do."

"Poor guy!  You're overworked."

"Well, first of all, I promised to do the shoveling for this
storm and the next two in exchange for your birthday brownies.
Not, I'll admit, that I wouldn't have to do the shoveling anyway.
But that made it worth while.

"And, second, somehow I don't mind the snowfall this time."
If the snow kept falling, his dad wouldn't come home this
weekend.  They could have the house to themselves.  He quirked a
smile at her.

She was glad that he still seemed happy about the brownies.
He was a nice guy.  Indeed, her friends were still a little
impressed with him.  "It's not the right time for me to send in
my acceptance."

"I don't care when you tell the U of I (as long as you meet
the deadline).  I'm waiting for what you tell me."

"If you're going there, so am I."

"That's what I wanted to hear.  PDA."

"PDA," she echoed.  Actually, she was looking forward to
private displays of affection.

Shannon was much happier about their relationship when she
left the cafeteria that noon.

                              - = -

Rachel actually touched her son's forehead when he came in
from shoveling the walk that night.  It told her nothing.  Being
still cold from the outside air, it wouldn't show that he was
running a fever.

Now, Steve wasn't a lazy kid.  He went to work quite
dependably.  Indeed, she worried more about his occasional crazy
expenditures of energy like his walk home from Shannon's house in
a blizzard than about his turning into a couch potato.  He did
his household chores quite faithfully, really.  It just wasn't
like him to do them without complaint.

"If Dad doesn't get back, do you think I could borrow your car
Saturday morning?  I'd drive you to work." he asked as she felt
his forehead after dinner.  Rachel was satisfied on two counts.
First, her son wasn't burning up with a fever.  Second, she knew
what he was after now.  He wasn't sick, he just wanted to borrow
her car.

"Gertrude?" she asked "You couldn't get as much in there."

"Well, it would transport people, or something small."  His
excuse for borrowing the Jeep was looking like a worse idea all
the time.

"I don't see why not.  You'd pick me up too?  And I'd have to
get there on time."

"Sure."  He got to school on time; he got to work on time; why
his mom worried about his getting her to work on time, he
couldn't see.

Steve opened up Shannon's letter when he got to his room.  He
already had the important information.  She would go to the
motel.  Now, for the details.

He set the machine to add one more quote, and then he
read:


  >> First, the good news.  They've taken Amy to the Mayo
  >> clinic.  According to a woman at the bank, they think
  >> that she'll be much better when she gets back.

  > Can you find out more?  Mr. Jensen's sister is named
  > Foster.  They live out of town a little ways, past the
  > hospital -- I remember that.  Could you call her?


Shit!  There must be hundreds of Fosters in the local phone
book, and with his luck he'd get his English teacher.  Still,
when he met Shannon in the morning, success would put her in a
good mood.

And, if success was unlikely, he could report some effort.
For that matter, getting Amy to the hospital was the first thing
Shannon had ever asked of him.  (Steve had completely forgotten
the medicine.) She'd been grateful, and -- if that gratitude
hadn't got him anything -- it just might have influenced her
decision to go to the motel.  He got the phone and plugged it
into the back of his computer.

He started on the top of the Fosters in the phone book.  They
took more than a column.

"Hello," the phone was answered.

"Hello.  I'm trying to locate the Mrs. Foster who is sister to
Bill Jensen."

His only reward was a click.  Some people didn't answer at
all; others had answering machines.  His fourth live contact gave
him a different response.

"Hello.  I'm trying to locate the Mrs. Foster who is sister to
Bill Jensen."

"What's your interest in her?"

"Mr. Jensen took his young daughter, Amy, out of town for
medical treatment.  I can't contact him, and I'm trying to find
out how Amy is doing."

"Tell me your name and telephone number.  If she wants to
contact you she will."

"My name is Steve Anderson.  My girl friend is Amy's baby
sitter.  I drove Amy to the hospital once."  He gave his phone
number, and the man hung up.  The phone rang immediately
afterwards.  "Hello?"

"Is this Steve Anderson?"  It was the same voice.

"Yes."

"Did you just call asking about Sandra Foster?"

"Yes."  Actually, 'Sandra' was extra information.

"Just checking the phone number.  Thanks."

It was a couple of minutes later that the phone rang
again.

"Hello."

"Steven Anderson, please."  It was a woman's voice.  He didn't
recognize it.

"Speaking."

"This is Sandra Foster.  You had some questions."

"Yes.  I wanted to know how Amy is doing.  My girl friend is
her regular babysitter, and she's been worried about her."

"Are you the guy who drove Amy to the hospital that
night?"

"Yes.  The Jensens were at your place."

One hell of a lot of Jensens were at her place that night, but
Sandy knew who he meant.  At this point, she dropped all her
doubts about talking about Amy.  Bill was one thing, he'd been a
pain since they were in grade school.  Theresa was something
else.  She had even been sweet about Bobby's behavior, but....
Between Bobby's mother and the guy who got Amy to the hospital,
Sandy knew which one Theresa would choose.  She wouldn't blame
her either.

"Yes, Steve.  What do you want to know?"

"Basically, how Amy is doing.  I heard that they took her to
the Mayo clinic.  Did it do any good?"

"They think she'll be much better."  She gave him all the
details and told him her phone number if he wanted to ask more
questions later.  "And I have your number, too.  Do you want me
to call you if I get any more news?"

"Please."

"I will, then."

Steve turned to the rest of Shannon's letter.


  > Steve,
  > Money is not the problem.
  > Mr. Jensen paid me in cash.  Plus a bonus.  A $100 bill.
  > I still have it.  Where have I had a chance to spend
  > money  since?

  > So I will pay for the motel room.  You still have to
  > provide the transportation.

  >> Whatever happens, whatever you decide, I still love you.

  > I love you, too.



Shannon never saw money as a problem.

If they were going to be going out, he would pay for it.
That's what boys did.

On the other hand: (1) She did say she would come.  That was
the important part.  (2) There was no way he could reach her
before tomorrow morning.  (3) He might have to borrow that money.
(4) It was one place to break a $100 bill.  So he ought to be
glad that she would bring the money.  Then he could give her back
smaller bills.

And she said that she loved him.  That was the other important
thing.  He could leave answering the letter till later on the
weekend.  He needed to figure out the practical part.

They were going to check into a motel, so he would need a
suitcase.  He had one.  Getting it in the Jeep would be a
problem.  What should he put in it?  Somewhere he had heard about
putting phonebooks in a suitcase to fool a hotel clerk.  Well, he
didn't want to do that.  His backpack should do for weight.

Did he want to take the box of condoms?  He knew damn well
that Shannon wanted to wait until marriage.  On the other hand,
he didn't have to tell her.  And maybe "white wedding" was her
way of telling him that she wasn't ready yet.  If so, he was glad
she used that method.  If she said "I'm not ready yet," he would
either ask each time whether she was ready, and thus he would
become a pest; or he would not ask, and thus he would demonstrate
a disinterest which was really false.

So, taking the condoms was just-in-case.  He didn't need to
show them to her.  He'd bought two shower caps on the same basis.
Maybe sex would be messy; how was he supposed to know?  Anyway,
Shannon might want to shower.  Even if they only made out, she
might get all hot and sweaty; he did.  And, just maybe, if they
decided to shower, she might be persuaded to let them shower
together.

He packed those in the bag.  He put the box of condoms in one
of his socks, and packed that in there.  Then he put in his
backpack.  When that didn't feel heavy enough to him, he put in a
couple of pairs of shoes.  He hid the bag in his closet.  Then he
took the phone and phone book back to the hall stand where they
normally stayed.  He set his alarm to an earlier-than-usual time
and went to bed.

                              - = -

Shannon saw no reason to write Steve just then.  She should do
that after they had spent the time together.  But she did want to
read his letter.  As soon as the dishes were in the dishwasher,
she went upstairs and put the disk from Steve in her computer.


 >> Still, *I* am not saying no to you.  I'm just pointing out
 >> the ways your fantasies don't go along with reality.

 > Well, they're fantasies.  And taking off your wedding dress
 > was more going along with your fantasy.

 > As for white panties, yes it means to me what it meant
 > in the fantasy.  Still, I don't want to choose your
 > clothing.  Just, if it isn't something which matters to
 > you, it does matter to me.


 > I got a turn-down from IIT today.  Officially, I'm devastated.
 > Even mom noticed that I didn't look devastated.  I'll write
 > the U of I today or tomorrow.  Actually, I'd decided against
 > IIT, but their decision will be easier for mom and dad to
 > accept than my decision would have been.


Well, "taking off your wedding dress was more going along with
your fantasy"  was blunt.  Steve, for all his lovely stories, was
more often blunt than not.  A white wedding was a fantasy.  Of
course, she could still dream of it.  But, clearly, if she was
going to marry Steve, it wasn't going to be as a virgin.  Did she
want to marry Steve?

She really didn't know. "As long as you both shall live" was
scary.  But she wanted Steve now.  At least, he hadn't
grabbed.

The next little bit was better, even if he had already told
her.

She wasn't sure that Steve had decided before he got the
letter from IIT. Still, it was nice of him to say so.  Steve was
nice -- that was a good description of him.  If she wasn't worth
trading his whole educational future for, he thought it was worth
saying that she was.

Well, if white panties mattered to him, he would get them.

The letter was short, but he enclosed another story.  She
opened it wondering if he would sketch out their time in the
motel. It had still been snowing when she came home.  Maybe his
dad wouldn't make it back.  Would he still want to go to the
motel, then?  Would they have the chance?  For that matter, his
house was a *long* walk from the school.


 > The reception was at a hotel.  After seeing their friends off,
 > they went to the elevator.  They were all alone in the hall

 > When the door was open, he kissed her again and then picked
 > her up.  He carried her into the room and set her down beside
 > the bed.

 > He returned from locking the door to kiss her yet again.

 . . .

 > That gave him his first sight of her nylons and the sweet
 > innocence of her white panties.  He kissed her legs above the
 > nylons.

 > "I love you," he said as he quickly stripped.  When he
 > lay beside her in the bed, he kissed her for the
 > longest time, their naked bodies hugging each other.

 > Then he kissed down to her naked breasts. His mouth
 > traveled all over the smooth surfaces until he arrived
 > at a nipple.   There, he sucked until she gasped.

 > "Do you still need these?" he asked, his hands on the
 > elastic of her panties.

 > "No."  She raised her hips to allow him to slide them
 > off.  He  took one moment to admire the lovely sight.

 > From his viewpoint, her hair down there looked like a
 > valentine's heart.  Its point was towards her belly button,
 > and its two curves were on her lips.

 > "You," he said, "are so beautiful."  He kissed her
 > again.

 > Slowly, his kisses traveled down to her breasts.  He
 > kissed her left breast, then sucked the nipple there.

 > He kissed from the tip of her left breast across the
 > valley up her right breast.  Then he sucked on that
 > nipple for minutes.

 > When she gasped, he moved until he was kneeling between
 > her legs.

 > He applied the condom.

 > When she raised her legs and spread them more, he
 > kissed up her chest to her neck.  He was poised
 > just at her entrance.


 > He kissed her mouth once more.  As his tongue entered
 > her mouth, he began to enter her below.

 > Slowly, gently, he pressed inward.  When he was all
 > the way in, he broke the kiss to speak.

 > "I love you," he said.

 > "I love you, too," she said.

 > He began moving.  Soon, he was moving faster and
 > faster.

 > She responded, pressing against him.  Suddenly, she felt a
 > strange feeling overtake her.  She convulsed silently.


Well, Steve had been a little less blunt.  It wasn't quite a
motel.  It was a hotel.

And he certainly knew what he wanted.  Did she have nylons she
could wear tomorrow?  She had already decided on the white
panties.

He could make requests, demands, really.  But he still made
guarantees, too. Of course that condom had appeared from nowhere,
but it had appeared.

Steve did have an imagination, these stories showed it.  But
his imagination had limits; he couldn't see that she might like
taking off his clothes, too.  Well, better a story in which he
"quickly stripped" than an egotistical story of how impressed she
was by his body.

The comment about the heart-shape of the hair on her mound was
lovely.  He still remembered from the summer. And the summer had
been so much nicer, their time.

And he could listen.  If he had turned down her request for a
white wedding, he had listened to her about the nonsense -- the
possible pain -- of the "forceful shove."

And the end!  A climax was a "strange feeling."  Steve didn't
know of the times she had spent in bed alone, but she had more
than one climax while they were making out.  Still, it was a nice
story.  And it was sweet of him to tell her what he wanted (and
-- even more important -- what he would provide) in a story.

Well, she had her choice.  Would she go with him to a motel?
Was that story what she wanted?

Really, it was things she wanted.  She had also wanted the
white wedding; she still wanted the white wedding, for that
matter. But she couldn't have them both.

Yes, she would go to the motel with him.  He'd promised to be
gentle; he'd promised to take care of the contraception.

Besides, it really wasn't her time.  Her period would start in
less than a week.

She hid the disk before selecting the clothes to wear the next
day.  She had found some separate nylons and a garter belt.  What
was this thing with boys and pantyhose?  She didn't think Steve
was the only one.  Maybe it was access.  Would Steve want to make
love with her still wearing the nylons?  Of course he would want
to; he wanted to make love standing up, for heaven's sake.  But
would she let him?  For her first time?  Well, she would see if
he insisted.  Then, it would depend on how she felt.  One thing
was that a good girl certainly wouldn't do that, and Shannon was
finished with being a good girl.

Steve had specified what he wanted; her mom expected her to
wear work clothes to decorate the gym.  Between their conflicting
expectations, there wasn't any space for Shannon to make her own
selection.  Which was unfair; it would be a special day for her.
Still, that was the way things were.

She took the library book to bed and turned out the lamp when
she got tired.  TV shows were worth staying up for; books
weren't.

                              - = -

Rachel waited for Steve to bring the phone back to the
hall, then she waited for his light to go out.  When he was
safely asleep, she took the phone into her room.  She retrieved
the headset and plugged it in.

"Marriott Carlyle."

"Roger Anderson, please."  And, she prayed silently, don't
tell me he's checked out.

"Hello."

"Roger?  I hope I didn't wake you."  And she *really*
hoped she hadn't interrupted him in packing to go home.

"Some calls are worth waking for.  I wasn't really asleep, not
even in my night clothes yet."

"Well, I can wait while you get undressed.  And do you have
the lotion warm yet?"

"I don't need it," he said.  "I'll be home tomorrow."

"Roger!  It is still snowing."  Well... it had been snowing
before dinner, which was the last time she'd checked.

"It stopped more than an hour ago around here.  The
interstates will be clear by morning."

"Even if you drove at the limit, and even you aren't crazy
enough to do that..." Which was what she hoped, but she wasn't at
all sure that he wasn't that crazy.  "... you won't get here
early enough.  Steve is borrowing my car.  It will be
enough."

"I'll get there about noon.  And I won't push it.

"Well, I'll be glad to have you home.  Just make sure that you
don't become a statistic."

"I won't.  You know, I gave you two kids.  You could confine
your mothering to them."

"Fat chance."  At this point, Mallory was gone, and Steve
reacted to her advice worse than Roger did.  "Anyway, I don't
want you as another kid.  I just want my husband for a few more
years."

"Don't know why."

"You should have figured it out by this time," she said.  "I
like what you have between your legs, but you are even sexier
between your ears."

"Only you would regard thinning hair as sexy."

"Grass doesn't grow on a busy street.  But I meant the gray
matter between your ears.  I bet it's ticking away right now
figuring what it's going to say to me tonight."

"I'll be home tomorrow night," he reminded her.

"And I'll be ready for you.  But I want you tonight.  Get the
lotion ready."

"I'd rather save that for tomorrow night."

"You can do both.  Besides, I don't want you feeling
frustrated if the weather does you wrong or the state doesn't
plow the roads.  Come on, I'll take care of it tomorrow night.
That's a promise.  How long has it been since I danced for you?"
she asked in her sexiest voice.

"Too long."

"Well, that's a promise I won't hold you to.  But I want it
long enough."

"Woman, you are impossible."  But he was laughing now.

"Go undress and put the lotion under the hot water."

"You still there?" he asked a little later.

"I'm here, in bed.  How about you?"

"I'm under the covers.  All undressed."

"Did you pack your pajamas?" she suddenly asked.

"Sure!  But I didn't put them on.  Nice and warm in this
room."

"You're incorrigible!  Remember when the paper boy knocked?"
They'd been eating a late brunch in the kitchen.  He'd been
stark.  The boy had been collecting.  She had invited the boy in,
closing the door on the cold.  Then, she'd realized that she
didn't have any money, and had needed to fetch Roger his pants so
he could get out his wallet.  The only way from the kitchen to
the bedroom led through the living room past the paperboy.

"It was worth it," he said, quite sincerely.  That had been in
the heady days before Mallory.  They had made morning love, dozed
together, awakened for an encore.  There was a reason that they
had been eating the first meal of the day well after noon.

"I suppose," she said, "that when Steve goes off to school,
you'll want me to forget about clothes at home, too."  Not that
she would, not that she ever had -- outside the bedroom.

"Well, I can hope."

Roger was a dear.  At her age, with her younger child about to
go off to college, she would need to wear clothes.  Naked Rachel
wasn't sexy any more.  Still, it was nice that her husband
thought of her that way.

"I'm naked now," she said, "but there's nobody here to
appreciate me.  So, I'm covered up.  There is nobody to see my
breasts, nobody to see my naked ass, nobody to see my naked legs,
nobody to see between them when I spread them as I'm doing
now."

"I can see you.  I might not be there, but I can see you in my
mind's eye."  She was sure he could; that was why she'd said
that, after all.

"Can you see me spread my lips?  Can you see my little woman
peeking out?"

"Yes."

"Well, she can't see you.  She's looking all over for you.
There's nobody to kiss her, no finger to rub her.  I guess I'll
have to do it for myself.  But it's not the same."

"Yes, love.  But don't do it yet.  Stroke your thighs.  Just
feather light strokes.  Touch the insides just below your knees.
Then draw your fingers toward your pussy, very lightly.  Stop
now.  Go back to your knees.  Do it again."

Rachel followed his directions while she could stand the
teasing. Finally, when she couldn't resist any longer, she rubbed
directly over her clitoris.  She gasped.

Clearly, he could hear her.

"Have you been a bad girl?" he asked.  "Has my Rachel been
touching herself?  Stealing a little relief before it was time? I
should hang up now, just to show you."

"No, don't."

"I won't.  I'm a forgiving sort.  Just to show I forgive you,
I'll let you turn on your magic wand now.  Is it on?"

"Yes."  She turned on the wand, and held it held close to her
mouth so he could hear it.

"Now bring the wand back to your right knee.  Stroke it down
your thigh slowly....  Now bring it to your left knee."  In
silence, she stroked the buzzing vibrator down her thigh until it
touched the outside of her lip.

She was panting by the time Roger changed the pattern.  "But
you've been neglecting your lovely breasts.  I've always liked
those.  Back when I could only guess at the shape, I guessed at a
shape I liked."  Roger now claimed he'd obsessed about her
breasts in class before he'd got up the nerve to ask her out on a
date.  Got up the nerve? she'd nearly thrown herself at him
before he'd even noticed her.  Anyway, that was long ago and --
however long it had felt back then -- a brief period.  Once he'd
had access to them, he'd always seemed to enjoy that access.

But she was chasing a side comment.  "Bring your wand to the
side of your left breast," he said.  "Circle it at the base.  Now
slowly -- slowly -- bring it up towards the nipple.  Don't touch
the nipple."  That direction was too late, and it felt heavenly.
The vibrations went all through her.

Slowly, very slowly, she moved the wand back down her breast.
"You did touch the nipple, didn't you?" he asked.  However
unclear the sounds from the wand were at his end, her mouth was
right next to the microphone.  He could hear every gasp.

"Before you said not to."

"Yeah," he said.  "I could hear that.  Don't rush, my love.
You'll get there.  Just enjoy the trip."  And, of course, the
longer the trip took, the later he'd get to sleep, the likelier
he'd delay his start until a reasonable time.

"Bring the wand back to your left knee," he continued.  "Now,
*slowly*, ease it down the inside of your thigh.  Put your
left hand on your thigh just above the lips.  Stop the wand when
it touches your hand."  She followed all his directions.  She was
aroused to the point of needing more, needing direct stimulation;
but this was arousing as hell, and his words were almost as good
as his being there.

"I'm completely turned on.  I can feel the juice leaking out
on my hand."

"That's great.  I can well believe you're turned on.  And I
love to hear about that juice.  Not as much as I love to see it,
and feel it, and taste it.  Still, I'm not there.  I'll take what
I can get."

"I'm lying on my back," she said.  "I'm so wet that it's
soaking all the hair on my lips.  But that's only a little of it.
It's streaming down my crack."

She could hear his breath sounding rougher over the phone.
She had to hold off, it would be better for her -- and he would
sleep deeply.  She did hold off for minutes more.  Then she had
to say, "I can't resist any longer."

"Yes, my darling.  Rub the wand down your right leg all the
way. Feel it against your lips?  Now turn it off for one moment.
Slide it in.  Does it go in easily?"

"Oh yes.  I'm so juicy, it slides right in."

"That's me.  That's me in you where I've been so many times.
Now turn it on."

And she did.  The vibrations took her away and she spasmed
around the wand again and again.  Finally, not able to bear the
sensations and nowhere near coordinated enough to turn it off,
she pushed the wand out of her to buzz alone on the bed.  It must
have been minutes later that she summoned the energy to reach
between her legs to turn it off.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm great."  And she was.  That had been much stronger than
usual, stronger than many orgasms when he was present.  "Now it's
your turn."

"I'll be home tomorrow night."

"So you will."  She hoped that the mention of night indicated
he was rethinking his starting time.  She didn't want him on the
slippery just-plowed roads.  "And I'll have my way with you then.
Do you think I won't be able to get you up tomorrow night?"

"Woman, you could get an erection out of a statue."

"Well, I'm not going to practice on a statue.  But I've lots
of practice on you.  Maybe I'll dance for you; maybe you'll
undress me; maybe you'll take one article of clothing off me
every time I pause in the dance.  Is the lotion warm enough?"

"I'm not even warming it."

"Well, go put it under the hot water.  I'll wait."

"I'm back," he said after a little while.

"Do you remember the first apartment?"

"Fondly.  It was a horribly cramped space, but I enjoyed
living there more than any later place -- more than any other
place I've ever had."

"Remember how we used to dance?"  she asked.

"I remember what we used to wear."

"There wasn't enough to remember."

"There was lots of skin, he said.  "That's what I remember
about you, your skin.  Seeing your skin, touching your skin,
holding your skin, kissing your skin."

"Enjoyed that, did you?  And here I thought all these years
that what you enjoyed was when I kissed you."

"Oh yes!  I can remember your mouth on me, but I can remember
my mouth on you, too.  You were so responsive -- still are, of
course."

"But you decided that you wouldn't come tonight because that
would mean that tomorrow night I might need to use my mouth.  Am
I that bad now?" she asked.

"Oh no!"  He'd been gone too long; the sounds of her orgasm
over the phone had raised too graphic pictures.  He'd already
been nearly hard when he'd come back from the bathroom.  This
conversation had increased that hardness to the point of
pain.

"Are you ready for me?"

"God, yes!"

"Too bad the lotion isn't," she said in a teasing voice.
"I'll bet it isn't even warm yet.  You'll just have to lie there
and remember my mouth around you back then -- imagine my mouth
around you tomorrow night.  You'll just have to wait, just as you
kept me waiting a few minutes ago.  I so wanted to come, but you
made me delay it as long as I could.  Do you feel the desire to
come?"

"And how."

"By your own hand, tonight.  By my mouth tomorrow -- or in my
cunt?  We have some time, we might as well decide this now. Which
would you prefer?  Tomorrow night, after I have danced for you
and you have stripped me, should I suck you 'til you're hard and
then take you into my cunt?  Or should I just keep sucking 'til
you shoot your wad into my mouth?  Or would you like to do
both?"

"I'd like both, but I'm an old man."

"You're not that old," she said, partly to reassure him --
partly to reassure herself.  She didn't feel old enough to have
an old husband.  "I bet I could get you up again.  'Course, after
that you wouldn't shoot so fast, you'd lie atop of me and drive
in me and do it for hours and hours."

"Woman, you're torturing me."

"Now that's an idea.  I could tie you up and suck you hard.
*Then* I could dance for you.  Of course, I'd have to remove
my own clothes in that case.  But, that's just part of the
torture. I'd remove my panties, and you could see my mound while
I did it. But then I'd drop my skirt and hide it while I danced
around. We could start early, but some of it we couldn't do until
we knew that Steve was sound asleep.  Sooner or later, though, I
could get to the point that *I* needed to get off.  I could
use the wand, since it would be too early for you to get off.
'Need' doesn't have anything to do with it.  I would be nice and
juicy by that time.

"Speaking of juicy," she continued, "do you think the lotion
is warm yet?"

"It should be," he said.  "I'm feeling awfully hot,
myself."

"Strange.  You might want to complain to the office.  If you
do, I'll hang up and call back later."

"Woman!  I'll get the lotion."

He got it, and lay back on the bed with the covers beside him.
"The lotion is ready," he said.

"Now spread it over your hand.  I think, as a first step, I'd
just kiss your cock.  Touch it, don't enclose it.  Touch it at
the base, in the middle, and just under the head -- that nice
place where there is that cute crack.  I always like to kiss the
skin of the shaft where it goes up there."

"Oh yes!"

"Then I'd enclose it, but just the tip."  She could hear his
breath over the phone.  "Slowly, very slowly, push your hand down
to cover the head.  That's my mouth.  Remember how my mouth feels
there, make your hand feel like that.  Then go down the shaft a
little bit.  Not all the way, maybe an inch.  Now, back up to the
head."  She could hear him panting.

"Now, suddenly, drop it down to enclose the whole shaft.  Are
you at the base?"

"Yes."

"Too bad you can't enclose everything.  Down there, I'd have
my throat tight around your head.  Well, come up slowly.  Here,
again, you can't lick the underside as you come up.  I would. I'd
lick everything; then, I'd lick that special place right at the
base of the head.  Then come down again.  Now, very slowly, come
up.  All the way up.  I'd tighten my lips around the tip as I
left it."

"Oh, Rachel!"

"Now I'd be over you.  And I'd steal a kiss from you.  One
kiss on my left nipple, one kiss on my right.  It would be a
minute before I'd slide down your body to find what I'm looking
for. Then, I'd stop with my cunt just touching your cock.  Is
your hand there?"

"Oh yes."

"Just the little finger, now.  Just the beginning of a touch.
Then I'm slowly, slowly, sliding down your cock.  I'm enclosing
all of it.  Then I'm moving up and down, up and down, all around
you.  I'm grasping all of you with all of me.  Do it!"

She could hear him panting.  Then the unmistakable sounds of
his orgasm.

"Yes, Roger.  Shoot in me.  Shoot as you have so many times
before.  I'm spasming around you, clasping you tightly as you
come."

Minutes later, he said.  "Woman, the talents of your mouth
aren't limited to kissing."

"But they include kissing.  Get a good night's sleep.  I'll
need you rested.  And when you get home, rested, restored, we'll
see about the kissing.  I'll kiss your mouth, since I've missed
you; and maybe I'll find other places. I've missed a lot of
you."

"You're wonderful."

"So are you.  Good night."

And, after they had hung up, she did miss him.  She looked at
the wand speculatively before putting it away.  She'd been
intending to turn him on, but she was turned on too.  But Roger
would be home the next night.  She'd save it all up for him.

                              - = -

Allison was trying to get herself ready to drive her
daughter to school.  Even though Shannon was preparing her own
breakfast, there were too many things to do; and she was still in
a morning fog.  It didn't help that she was far from sure that
this preparing for the dance was a good exception to Shannon's
grounding.  Then the phone rang.  However she felt, clients
deserved a helpful response.

"Allison Bryant speaking.  How may I help you?"

"May I speak to Shannon Bryant please?"  It was an adult man's
voice.  She recognized it vaguely.  A teacher?  Should she let
Shannon talk about the preparation?  Well, she could relent later
or pass on a message.

"I'm sorry.  She can't come to the phone."  She didn't quite
use the word, 'grounded.'

"This is Bill Jensen.  I'm calling from Minnesota.  I'm father
to Amy, one of the kids Shannon sits for.  She was interested in
Amy's condition."  Sure she was.  Amy had been sick when she
babysat.  Still, it was an odd reason for an early-morning long-
distance call more than a week later.

"She still can't come to the phone.  I'd be glad to relay a
message, though."  Allison was trying to balance two feelings.
This Jensen guy had let Steve visit Shannon in his house without
even considering Shannon's parents and their opinion of that.  On
the other hand, he was the parent of a sick kid; she'd been
there, and didn't want to add to his problems.  Not that Shannon
had ever had anything as bad as what seemed to bother Amy.

"Well, it's too long to put into a message.  But we think the
treatment was a success."

"Treatment?"

"She's at the Mayo Clinic.  I'm calling from there ... near
there.  Shannon probably knows."  Allison was willing to bet that
Shannon didn't know.  Hadn't Jensen been told about the
grounding?  Probably forgotten; had a sick kid after all.  Even
so, as far as Allison could remember, all he'd been told was that
she couldn't babysit.

"Well," she said, "thanks for calling.  I'll tell her that the
treatment seems to be a success."

She went into the kitchen for another cup of coffee.  Shannon,
clearly on her best behavior, didn't even look towards the clock.
They'd be late; Shannon should be glad she was getting out at
all. "That was Mr. Jensen, your old employer.  His daughter, Amy,
is being treated at the Mayo Clinic.  They think the treatment
was a success."  And, now that she thought about it, that
explained the phone call.  He probably just received the
prognosis and was full of the good news.  He was probably calling
everyone who he thought would be interested.

"Well," said Shannon, "that's good news."  It wasn't much
news. He'd probably was prepared to tell her a good deal more.
On the other hand, anything more might well require medical
training to understand.  She'd ask Miss Olson about it tomorrow.
Let her mom object in front of the whole congregation to asking
about a sick girl.  Besides, that would be after the date with
Steve; she could handle the extra restrictions then.

                              - = -

Steve had the whole timeline figured out.  He'd get his
mom to work a few minutes early.  She had a key, and -- having
bugged him about being late -- she couldn't raise any questions
about being early.  Then he could stop back here to grab the
suitcase. Then he would get to school at the same time as
Shannon.  No sense in letting her get chilly.  Everything was
going according to plan.

Then the phone rang.

"Yo."

"I'm calling Steve Anderson."

"Speaking."  If this was a salesman, it would be the shortest
call of his day.

"This is Bill Jensen.  I'm Amy's father, calling from
Minnesota. I hear that you asked about her."

"Yes, Mr. Jensen."  And Shannon had asked for this news.  It
wasn't all that much.  Mr. Jensen either didn't remember the
medical names of the treatment or was sensible enough not to tell
Steve.  Basically, they didn't expect a cure; they did expect an
improvement.

"And," said Mr. Jensen, "we always expected that the condition
would get better as she got older.  These doctors reinforce that
expectation."

Steve thanked him for calling.  The conversation had eaten up
all of his lead time, though.  "Sorry about that," he told his
mom. "Remember the baby I took to the hospital?  That was her
dad. They took her to the Mayo Clinic."

"Well, I can't expect you to ignore that sort of call.  Just
don't have an accident on the way to the office; we have enough
time."  She had enough time; Steve was running late.  Still, he
got back to the house, loaded the suitcase in the trunk, and
drove to the high school at a safe pace.  He couldn't afford a
ticket.  That would be another delay.

                              - = -

The call woke Roger from a deep sleep.  He was tempted to
leave another call, turn over, and catch another hour.  Bad idea.
He got up stark naked and rather sticky.  By the time he got out
of the shower he was awake.  He dressed, packed carefully, and
shaved.  After a breakfast with three cups of coffee he felt
awake enough for the trip.

The roads were clear by now.  You could easily drive on the
local roads. When he got on the interstate, and there was more
salt than snow on the road surface. Still, he kept his speed down
to the point where he was passed by more cars than he passed.
Rachel would be at work and Steve would be decorating the gym
whenever he arrived.

                              - = -

"Brrr," said Shannon when she got in the car.  "I didn't
know where you were.  Still, I'm glad you weren't here when Mom
dropped me off."  Steve hadn't thought about that possibility;
he'd expected Shannon to walk.  He started the car, driving off
sedately in case somebody who could recognize them came this
early to decorate the gym.

"Phone call.  I'll tell you later.  Now, here's the situation.
I'm driving Gertrude instead of the Jeep because Dad is somewhere
on the interstate heading in this direction.  We could risk my
house; I'd really rather not."

Shannon wondered why Steve kept bringing that up.  Too many
things could go wrong.  Did he have second thoughts about making
love?  The white wedding had been her idea for so long.  She sure
wasn't going to go all the way while worrying about his dad
coming in the door any second.  "I don't want your dad to find
us.  I brought the money; didn't I say I would?"

"That's another thing.  I've enough to pay for the room.  I'll
be a little short until my next paycheck, but I'll make it."
Unfortunately, if he didn't make it, this make-out session might
be something his parents figured out.  For that matter, they
might even share their suspicions with *Shannon's* mom.

"Look, maybe this is something I don't want you to do to
me."

"Huh?"  Steve couldn't see what she was talking about.  He'd
always stopped when she asked him to.  "But you agreed.  If
you've changed your mind..."

Shannon couldn't see why Steve was insisting on paying for
this. She couldn't even see why *she* was insisting.  But
how could he insist that she surrender her virginity at this
session and object to her contributing a little money?  "I agreed
to something we would *both* be doing.  I thought that was
what we were.  Shannon and Steve together.  You seem to think
it's something you're doing to me."  Or something he was taking
from her.

"Look.  I always pay for the dances.  It's just something boys
do."

"Your mom works.  Is it her money or your mom and dad's
money?"

"Sort of both."  It was his mom's money, just as this was her
car.  But he'd heard one them say something like 'I'm short; do
you have enough?' to the other a million times.  And he was
short, and Shannon had the money.

"Well, they're a couple.  Are we a couple?"  Which was, after
all, the real question.  Would she be doing this if they
weren't?

"We're a couple.  I've missed you."

"And, much as I've enjoyed the letters, I've missed you,
too."

"So why are we fighting now?  Anyway, you're probably safer if
I don't go broke.  We'll go halves.  That'll leave me with
enough."

"Here."  She'd hidden the bill inside her bra.  She unzipped
her parka and reached up under the sweat shirt.  A moment later,
she held the bill out to him.  He took it and put it inside his
coat, tucking it into his shirt pocket.  They hadn't quite gotten
to the interstate when he turned in to the motel.

"Stay here."  He walked towards the office.

"Do you have a vacancy?"

"How long?"

"Until checkout time."

"That's one p.m.  You have less than four hours."

"That's long enough.  I don't want to fall asleep at the
wheel."

The man gave him the strangest look.  But he also gave him a
key.  He inspected the hundred carefully before giving him the
change. The room was near the end of the row.  Steve started the
car again and backed near the door.  "Keep your hood up."

Shannon didn't want to be seen; still Steve made this sound
furtive.  She waited while Steve pulled a suitcase out of the
trunk.  What did he have in there?  When she had followed him in
the room, he switched on the light.  The room wasn't dirty or
shabby, but it didn't look like a home, either.  There were two
double beds filling most of the space.  On the other side from
where they were standing, there was a door which had to lead to
the bathroom.  There were lots of windows on two sides; light
from the sun was streaming in those on the far wall.

Steve had imagined removing a veil from Shannon.  The hood
wasn't a very good imitation, but it was what they had.  He
pulled the string opening the bow at the neck of her parka.  Then
he pushed back the hood and clasped his hands behind her head. He
kissed her first with his lips closed, then opened them and
thrust his tongue into her mouth.

Just as his lips touched hers, Shannon figured out the
symbolism. It was much better than wanting to hide her face.  His
hands were cold, and his face was colder.  But the thought was
warm.  She hugged him during the kiss.

Steve removed her parka and leaned over to kiss her again, if
a little clumsily.  He hung her coat, and then his own, in the
closet.  He pulled off his sweater and put it on the shelf.  When
he came back, the kiss was a little warmer and lasted longer.
Their tongues tangled.  He caressed her butt.  She wrapped her
arms around him.

"This is fun," he said, "but I should give you the money now.
We're going halves, right?"

One bill in her bra had been scratchy enough.  Besides which,
she didn't really expect to be wearing the bra much longer.  "I
don't really have a place to put it.  Can't you hold on to it
'til later?"

That sounded sensible.  "Later, then.  And I should tell you
something before we get to the serious part."

Shannon was disturbed.  They were where they'd schemed to be,
and he kept wanting to talk.  What about the letters?  What was
so important?  Had he found another girl?

But he went on talking.  "I got a call from Amy's dad this
morning."

Oh, that.  "So did I," she said.

"Then you already know."

"I don't know anything.  Mom intercepted the call."

"Well, I don't know much.  The treatment seems to have been a
success.  I don't know what treatment.  Doubt if I would if he
had named it.  Anyway, they think she'll get better as she grows
up."

"That makes sense.  That's your news?"

"That's it.  Oh, and I sent the acceptance to U of I."

"Poor Steve.  IIT doesn't see your worth.  Well, I do."  She
kissed him.

He laughed.  "In the first place, I was happier getting the
rejection.  I was going to U of I anyway.  This just makes it
easier at home.  In the second, I doubt that IIT was considering
quite the same merits you are.  But I'll take the kiss anyway."
He kissed her quite lightly.

"I don't think it's time to send my acceptance to the U of I
yet."

"Fine," he said.  "You have more problems at home than I ever
had.  I don't want to be another problem.  I'm not laying demands
on you."

She thought that was funny, considering where they were.  He'd
laid plenty of demands on her, just not about college schedules.



Concluded in Part 13
Heart Ball
Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
2002/12/15
2003/02/12
2010/02/13
My available stories:
/~Uther_Pendragon/index.htm
<1st attachment begin>

<HTML removed pursuant to http://assm.asstr.org/erotica/assm/faq.html#policy>
<1st attachment end>

----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <story-submit@asstr.org>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-admin@asstr.org> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+